Every precious petal humbly holds its place
joined at the base
in common connection
This one white rose - whether enjoyed, envied, or embraced
Is fitted with it's own winning width.
In its life it may bring a tear,
inspire a smile,
lift a lilting spirit.
To stare at its shape is a sane escape
Choose a boutonniere
or simply stay in vase or bouquet
until it begins to wither
head bent down,
toward its bed
led by what's left of life.
There is no cause for flaunty applause
On Scottish Moors
Heather
weather
The Artificial Boutonniere
Bridegroom’s
dyed blooms
The Lavender Hyrbid
Blue grows
new rose
Garden Inventory
I lack
lilac
The Overgrown Garden
Budding
flooding
Best Gardener
Knows his
roses
Lawn Invasion
Clover
all over
frilly carnation
pretty delicate petals
school boutonniere
first high school dance
dainty roses for lady
girls dance while boys watch
Your memory nearly diminished
I can only imagine you here
In this empty space before me
As I reach up to kiss your lips
And see the ache inside your eyes
Like a poem left unfinished
A wilted white rose boutonniere
Shards of a shattered vanity
Umbra of the moon’s eclipse
Or November clouds in April skies.
The all too common
American squirrel
can become quite whimsical
in the random coloration
of their normally grayish hides.
Some are attired in formal black,
some in a fetching Albinus white,
and every shade in-between.
Little red,
unlike those rare British squirrels
(which are naturally red and fluffy),
displayed an unusual coat
of a fetching russet hue,
which many noticed
complemented well
any autumnal season.
Sad to say,
yesterday a hawk got him.
His remembrance service will be
held next Wednesday
at eleven-thirty a.m.
at Jake's gastro-bar and grill,
A light Rosea will be served.
Mourners are suggested to wear
(as a gesture of respect),
a boutonniere or other small reminiscence -
something a little red.
"If home is where the heart is and the heart lives in memories, remember that the past was just a second ago".
(Sand Promises)
Just like decor from long forgotten proms,
balloons and crepe left tangled in the sky -
a beachball clings where rafters echoed songs,
and breaths were lost when love became a sigh.
Once tightly held, old promises would fade
like salutations in a book of years,
now yellow with the memories they made
and fragile, like a page-pressed boutonniere.
Yet smiles recall a love-stained rented tux
- the sand you shook from puff sleeves made of lace,
were lost within emotion's melting flux,
while tears of laughter glistened on your face.
Those pieces of the life we leave behind
are paths to home for pensive souls to find...
We are trying to one up each other as usual – another story teller and I.
Our stories are getting wilder, less plausible, and we are laughing.
Suddenly I remember my pal Gertrude’s story.
I am pretty sure it was a lie, but it made a terrific story.
Gert was married to a man who was a rounder.
He started going out on Saturday nights, all slicked up and handsome.
He did not take her.
Refused actually.
About six months later her friends said he was getting married.
They had been invited to his wedding – next Saturday.
On Saturday he dressed especially nice with a boutonniere.
Gert said “You look good enough to get married.”
She said he did not even blink.
He did get married to the other woman, illegally.
I have no idea if the other woman knew he was already married or not.
Let’s see you top this story, I thought
There was silence.
Then we both burst out laughing.
Sunflower Seeds
enchanted seedling
sunflower will weave magic
golden yellow joy
Green Eyes
Curious green eyes
Soft gentle paw pats my face
Purring in my ear
Ariel Ballet
blue skies seagull flight
graceful ariel ballet
speaks to me of spring
Button Hole
sky blue boutonniere
morning gift from azure drift
delight has a smile
(Button Hole was accidently deleted so reposted here)
September and days grow short
student’s new for me to sort
labour of love some may say
mostly though I toil for pay.
Witness to sweet autumn’s prize
Fall Fairs, joy in children’s eyes
from their vision new dreams rise
each finds purpose their own way.
Some may stumble, trip the wire
others grasp their heart’s desire
as their allotted days transpire.
September and days grow short
student’s new for me to sort.
Form - Boutonniere: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tag/13-lines/
She was an orphan with an ax to grind wanting nothing from no one.
Gifted with flaming red hair and freckles she was quite the eye full
Each day she ducked around in rubber flip flops picking remnant leaves
and discarded petals from the ground, in her neighbor's backyard, .
One tiny bud
cute little boutonniere
fell to the ground
Like herself this tiny petal had seen better days. Tucking it in her smock
she scrambled on her knees in another patch to find more of them.
another petal,
she began to melt
beneath a fractal sun
Juniper Bleeding Berries they nicknamed her cuz her lips were always bloody and chewed. Also known as the hairy red fairy, they poked and taunted in a jail called Reyhanli.
she found a bleeding red one
mad as hell
with a shake of the trellis
she spilled out the rose petals one by one. Without a sound they fell, never stood a chance. Picking up an handful of soft crumbled petals she tucked them in her smock. Bet they felt misplaced there in her sandy pocket, Like herself she thought as she left the others behind, to mulch and rot inside the ground.
A frill on the fringe
Edging closer to flounce called life,
Not so much for the bounce
Nor cutting it with a knife.
I'd rather sashay through it
Quaffing it in a gulp,
Don't wait for a pulp,
Nor boutonniere of this verse,
Open it like your precious purse,
And then, with it you go,
And then, with it you flow.
An Opus to be made for us
With not much of doubt or any fuss,
Sprinkle salacity that is pure
Cultured and streamed down on us like a cure.
Let it be puissant
As it is in fact short lived,
So sui generis and never retrieved.
I remember lying in the midday sun
Body slathered with Johnson’s baby oil,
I was almost fifteen and barely needed to shave.
I remember my mother in the yard
Telling me to come in because
“You know you’ll only get burned.”
I remember our ride to the dance
A red 1964 Ford Galaxie 500
You spent hours fixing it up while I sat nearby.
I remember my baby blue dress
your tux with ruffled shirt to match
a blue boutonniere and a wrist corsage for me.
I remember the prom’s theme
“We’ve Got Tonight” by Bob Seger.
Who needs tomorrow?
I remember you only wanted to slow dance
but I didn’t argue
I was happy just to be close to you.
What I don’t remember is how it all ended
“Let’s make it last, let’s find a way.”
It seems Seger was wrong after all.
One day whilst going out to play
I felt a plop upon my head
Oh what was that, I cried out loud
Then spied the largest blackest cloud
Maybe a warning of more to come
As he flung a raindrop just for fun
Or was he laughing; having a joke
Intending to give me a jolly good soak
Imagine my joy when combing my hair
For this tiny wee raindrop was still hiding there
Like a beautiful sphere; a boutonniere
Secreted and safe she was inside her lair
Translucent and fragile, cupped inside my palm
I held her gently, so not to cause harm
But sadly the raindrop she rolled on my floor
And vanished completely; I saw her no more
Cherishing memories of a single raindrop
Still yearning to feel that magical plop
As rain clouds appear and gather above
I look to the sky sending kisses and love
Written 14th November 2018
Competition entry for The Raindrop
Sponsor Craig Cornish
Standard Contest 160
Brian Strand
1st place
Outside, the still
of crickets.
Inside, petals
of a cold sore
foliate,
a boutonniere
for full lips.
Looking up, I tell her
two eggs, basted,
hash browns,
coffee now.
Later on,
she says
the birthmark
I found
south of her navel
she’s had
all her life.
Donal Mahoney
Red roses wristlet
Orange roses boutonniere
As betoken of
The countryside espousal
Of two souls becoming one
3-11-2016
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